


The Sword and The Shield

by Hans_On



Series: Once Upon An October [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26845441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hans_On/pseuds/Hans_On
Summary: “As a knight it is your duty to kill dragons.” “May I ask why?”  “They hoard wealth and the people live in fear of their capricious moods.” “Very well.” The knight draws his sword.*Fifth day of Promptober challenge on the Profound Bond server!*
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Once Upon An October [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946686
Kudos: 26





	The Sword and The Shield

**Author's Note:**

> References, references everywhere! *waves hand across fic*
> 
> Surprise me by commenting as you read, all the ones you pick up.
> 
> #14

Dean was considered the protector of the Celestial Kingdom, as the High Guard Knight of King Michael. 

He was called behind his back and to his face many names; Michael’s blade, Michael’s sword, Michael’s attack dog. He wasn’t offended - it wasn’t his place to be offended. It was his role, his duty.

When he was commanded he obeyed and that was how he had earned his position. The king’s decrees were not always popular, some downright cruel but their liege firmly believed in the ends justifying the means and the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few. As heartless as some of his edicts had been, they had made the nation more prosperous on a whole, had made them almost untouchable.

If what he demanded made Dean the outlet of the people’s hate, because they dare not speak against the King, that too was his burden to bear.

His most fervent wish however was that his character not color his brother’s upbringing - which unfortunately it would appear it was.

Samuel Winchester was one of the nation’s strongest witches and most intelligent scribes and he had just been overlooked for a position in the Circle of Magi - because his last name was Winchester. They claimed it was because of his age, Sam being only twenty-three cycles but Dean knew it was because of him. 

There were very few people in the kingdom that some act required of him by their King had not negatively impacted - even as they lived their safe, unthreatened lives by his sacrifices.

“I’m not upset Dean. You shouldn’t be.” Sam tried to appease as Dean paced up and down his brother’s chambers late in the evening.

“It’s unfair, is what it is! You should be the youngest member of the Circle today. Instead…” Instead another year of ‘study and application Master Samuel’ - according to Zachariah, one of the Elder Scribes whose niece and child had been lost in the small town of Sioux. 

There had been a plague beginning almost a decade ago and King Michael had ordered a culling once the first twenty had died. The platoon of knights he had sent, led by Dean had done what was required of them, joylessly. It haunted him, as did all the connected families’ disgust and anger.

After the massacre Dean had consoled himself that no one beyond that town needed to die and the month of isolation he and his men had weathered in the aftermath had soothed their reception on return somewhat. The grieving families had no longer wanted the ‘murderers’ dead - but all of the soldiers and especially Dean as their captain back then, had become most despised.

Bitterness it seemed, would still trump forgiveness.

“I get to read for another year. No need to be sent off to mock battles or practise spells in far off countries… away from you.” Sam smiled at him and Dean softened as he always did when his brother reassured him.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it though. I hate that people are being unfair to you because of me.” Dean settled into a chair, hung his head and wished he didn’t bear such heavy burdens before he even made his thirtieth cycle. How elevated in position he was should be a source of pride for Dean as well, but somehow it felt as though it always brought him heartache.

Lost family, lost love, now even lost opportunity for his innocent brother. Lost freedom...

That was his fault as well but Dean would rather Sam in the service of the Crown than dead. And then, rather in the Circle than in service of the Crown.

“I’m fine Dean. I’m content with Master Zachariah’s ruling because it means I’m still in the Citadel with you. Where else would you turn to vent your miseries?” His brother’s large hand came down on his head and Dean scoffed, pulling away.

“A tavern wench.”

“Ouh - I’ll tell Jo.” Sam danced away from the sudden swipe of his hand as Dean glared.

“You’ll do no such thing.” If Sam shared any of Dean’s thoughts with Jo, she would run to her mother Ellen and between her and Bobby Singer, he would get a talking to as if their parents were still alive.

But it was easy to soothe his worries with a tankard from their tavern and tell Dean he had done what he needed to do to keep Sam safe and everything he’d done had made their hobbled-together family stronger. When the drink wore off though, Dean’s heart was still in its private torment.

“I have to go. Several platoon captains are to meet with me at dawn about training schedules and the King has requested a mid-morning meet.” Dean stood and swept his cape aside, uncaring as the mantle of his station cleaned a swathe on Sam’s floor.

“Dean.” His brother’s reproachful voice made him straighten his shoulders defiantly.

“If I’m going to be sent off to do some awf -” He stopped himself, his words almost treasonous. Dean took a breath and tried again. “I wanted to speak with you again before whatever task I’m likely to be set.”

“You should have started with that. Do you need your protections renewed or something spelled?” Sam got that no-nonsense look on his face, pure determination to help him that made Dean’s chest warm with love. He didn’t even care about risking his well-being helping Dean outside of the guidance of the Master scribes.

“Rest tonight Sammy. If I have need for anything, I will find a way to see you again before I leave.” Still, with that look on his face Dean could only sigh as his brother reached to his neck and pulled the necklace he had made and given him so long ago from his tunic. He watched his brother’s face as Sam’s closed eyes and chanting strengthened and renewed the protection, anti-possession and true vision spells that bespelled him once the necklace was on.

Stubborn little twerp. Sam was barely fazed, only slightly shaking as he stepped away from Dean where he knew other mages would be winded at weaving three spells back to back.

“You should be in the Circle.” Dean growled lowly, voice bitter. Sam waved a hand at him and settled back, flopping onto his cot. Sam might have been away from him but the Circle was only ever called to war and there hadn’t been one of those in almost seventy years, when Michael’s father had risen to power. Here, Sam could be called upon for any squabble the King felt needed a mage.

“Go to sleep Dean. All of this is only worth it if you come back.” Sam’s thready tone took all the fight from him and Dean left with a soft pat to his brother’s shaggy head.

* * *

  
  


The Throne room was little more than a long, wide hallway but the ostentatious nature of the walk to stand before Michael had always annoyed Dean. Likewise the wait, on one knee at the base of the dais on the hard marble floors.

“My High Guard.” He was sure the King knew he had six of them but why bother to learn names. He knew King Michael knew his name though, Dean was his special pet. “I have a challenging task I need you to achieve. Alone.”

Alone. That bode ill for him - both in terms of what the King would ask and his likelihood of survival. Did King Michael see him as expendable already? He wanted to question, to suggest that company would improve his chances of completing said task… but Dean held his tongue.

“Two days ride out, there is a small village. They are not immediately threatened but there is a dragonling in their forest. It is young and seems to be searching for something. Likely, somewhere to start a hoard - or nest. You must kill it.”

The King was still yet to meet his eyes while Dean’s gaze bore into him, mouth open in shock. Dragons were rare, endangered now. If there were a young one they should be sending out groups of soldiers and mages alike to capture it. A dragon in the menagerie…

“My Liege… if the dragon is young and roaming this could be an opportunity to add to the nation’s strength… could it not?” Especially if as the King said it was not harming anyone, simply looking for a place to settle.

“This one is beyond us. It must die.” The steely finality of Michael’s tone snapped Dean’s jaw shut. The King’s decision was made. “As a knight, it is your duty to slay dragons. In protection of the nation and our realms.”

Dean bowed his head and swallowed his dissent. “Yes My Liege.”

“I expect you to head out immediately. You should be able to reach the village, slay the thing and be back before a rotation has passed. You may take anything additional you wish from the armoury but I imagine your own sword spelled by your brother and that unnatural horse of yours, are well enough up to the task.” Dean kept his shoulders relaxed, fought against the urge to stiffen in offense for Impala and in fear at mention of his brother.

“As you wish my King.” For it was not his place to question.

The King must have told the kitchen to prepare for him as a saddlebag had been prepped with water and food enough for four days. It was nothing more than cured meats and bread that would likely be spoiled by the third day of travel in the sun but perhaps he could pass through the village itself for something home cooked before he returned. If he returned.

Older dragons could be savage and jealously guarded their hoards. If it were an old one, Dean would write himself off. He wondered what it would be like to encounter a young one, hoardless. How young could it be? Fresh from a nest it would be no bigger than a foal but it would not be traveling if it were. A juvenile then - looking to settle down. Bigger than a horse, but not yet a house… maybe as big as the stable shed he kept Impala in then.

Why would the King not consider that having a dragon at their command was worth an expedition? Hell this was one that he and Sam might agree on… oh Sam, he wouldn’t be able to stop by the libraries… Dean ended up scribbling a note to a kitchen sculley that he requested be given to the maid Eileen. She would get it to his brother.

Before the sun had even begun to wane in the sky he was off. Impala was the pride of the knights’ stables and despite what anyone said she was not cursed or magicked. She was simply a big, beautiful pitch-black beast that only answered to him. 

His mount was well suited to travel through the day and night but Dean made them both rest for a few hours on the day of their leaving and a few hours more near dawn of the second.

Somehow they still managed to arrive at the village a good half a day early and with the unexpected hours, Den paid to have Impala stabled and took a walk around to learn about the place and his quarry.

It was only a few hours past dawn and his garb had garnered him attention from the early risers like the inn-keeper and the baker. One tacky sweet bread from the baker and a bowl of surprisingly nice gruel from the inn-keeper later, Dean’s stomach was full and he made discreet inquiries of the townspeople whose pockets he had just greased.

“I noted the forest to the east of here… many wild animals about?” He asked, sopping his bowl clean and trying to be off-handed about it.

“Nope! No issues since that dragon came down from the cliffs northeast.” The inn-keep said bluntly, wiping down the bar after he moved a gaping Dean’s bowl.

“Um, err, the dragon is…?” The man’s dark eyes narrowed, the almost aristocratic face suspicious.

“No one in this village is dumb. So if you’re here about the dragon no one’s going to help you kill it. I suppose none of us can stop you,” Here he gestured Dean’s garb dramatically, “but since it came we’re short of several rabid wild boar that killed a young girl a month ago.” He ended with a raised brow, hands coming down on the clean surface of the bar top. “It’s been eating our village pests and frankly we’re quite grateful.”

“... it won’t stay young forever. You do realize if you plan to keep it, it needs an area to nest and hoard. You’d basically be giving up your forest to it - not to mention it needs to feed and while there’s pests now, eventually they’ll run out and it’ll come for your livestock.” Dean rattled it off, trying to make this small-minded townsperson aware of what an undertaking his village was - had been, considering.

It would have been one thing if a King decided to keep a dragon. Herds could be raised just for feeding it, a place could be built off-limits and private just to house it and if it wanted to hoard gold well, loot and treasures from the personal vaults could be gifted to it. A tiny nowhere village trying to keep a dragon would soon be overwhelmed.

“We are prepared for that and already several farmers have stepped up to be willing to keep him fed. We’re not asking anything from the Crown… so if this in any way reassures you we’re fine, you can ride right back out of town and leave the dragon alone.” He sounded so sure and Dean didn’t doubt that if he asked around what the inn-keeper had told him would ring true… but his duty was to the Crown.

“You know I can’t…” Dean lowered his head, apology in his bearing.

“And too damned loyal to ask why the King wants this dragon dead so badly huh?” He looked up at that, curious. The inn-keeper gave him a terribly put-upon look as he rolled his eyes. “There’s no group with you so you’re not here to capture it. So he sends a lone, young knight to kill him.” He got a slow looking-over too that made Dean fidget in his seat. “Cruel really, to send eye candy.”

“Well I don’t plan on dying.” He ignored the barkeep’s flirtation as he was sure he wasn’t meaning to follow through anyway. 

“Sorry to say but I hope he fights you. He’s… well.” He clammed up so suddenly Dean got whiplash. No matter how he prodded with more questions, the innkeeper gave him nothing else. Except wishes for him to be on his way.

Dean wandered out into the street and around the town and heard more repeats of the tale. Balthazar the innkeeper was correct indeed, the dragon had saved lives. It had come down after the herd of boar had killed the girl but since it had - no issues. No burning crops, no missing cattle, not even a roar in the night. One lady even claimed the small kids had had a bonfire with him - why was everyone calling the dragon a him? - last week and Dean took that story with a heavy grain of salt.

No one would give him directions and no one would help him. Even as the market began to open and everyone learned why he was there, his coin that should be welcomed was suddenly unwanted. The cheery baker that had given him the sticky bun earlier had gone all amber-eyed flint on him and the only person who would feed him at noon was the tight-lipped innkeeper.

So apparently he was to go wandering into the forest alone with Impala and his sword. He wasn’t afraid, ironically enough. If how these people spoke of this dragon was true it was really little more than a very, very large child-beast. A loveable, harmless, fire breathing, size-of-a-shed dragonling.

The hours of the day were wiling away and after a brief rest on his pack in the stable with Impala, Dean set off, leaving the village glaring behind them. As Balthazar had said, no one could stop him, he was a High Guard knight of the King. But no one would help him… and if - when, when he came back with their dragon’s head, he would be lucky if they let him stop there for the night on his trip back.

It was hours of slow riding on Impala, his girl impatient with the directionless nature of their rambling before he found anything that resembled a sign of an unnatural creature. It was just a wide clearing of knocked down trees, but this looked like a landing and taking off spot. So somewhere near here… he found his direction quickly after that as only one offshoot away from the dragon’s launch pad was clear enough that Dean could imagine a lumbering body making it through.

Yet, as it was, it was still dusk and the day ending when he decided to call it a night, leaping off Impala and letting her roam while he set up his bed roll and belongings by a steep rock face. He settled himself down, Impala watching him narrow-eyed from several feet away and got comfortable. If he woke in the early hours, he could maybe even search to see if the dragon would be hunting for food…

A gentle rocking motion punctuated by a prodding to his side was what woke him up. As he snuffled to wakefulness and stretched, mumbling out a query, a slight figure in the dark darted away from him and on instinct Dean stumbled up and followed. They went just around the rock cropping he had been sleeping against and into a cave and Dean was shocked to find inside a hollowed out space, a banked pile of embers, a haphazard collection of pots and books and clothes and ironically to that last thing, a very naked young man.

Huddled against the back wall, the crouched figure squinted with quizzical brows above jewel-bright blue eyes while Dean stared slack-jawed. He couldn’t be older than Sam, in fact likely he was younger but Andraste help him, he was beautiful. All pale-skinned lithe limbs and bedraggled dark hair, he seemed to be trying to make himself smaller curling in on his core but heedless of his nudity.

“It’s okay. Don’t… umm, be afraid?” He said it sure in his life he’d been capable of calming hysterical women and children yet suddenly feeling as flat-footed and swollen-tongue as a fool around this boy. If he were out of his teenaged years Dean would eat his shoe.

“Oh?” Suddenly the head perked up, the blue eyes blinking rapidly as they looked back at Dean. “ _ Oh _ !”

His excitement was palpable as the unnamed young man suddenly straightened, taking to his feet and taking almost coltish, hesitant steps toward him. Dean found himself frozen stiff - quite, really, and taken with the bright eyes dragging over him in awe.

“You’re not from the village but…you can...” A lean hand that looked like it should be delicate, settled quite firmly on his arm, squeezing above his gauntlet. “Oh…”

It was a rather unfortunate situation to find oneself in a cave with what was likely the village idiot - something was obviously wrong with the boy’s mind - but the village idiot being rather fetching, to be painfully aroused by this situation. 

The boy’s still sweeping, delicate hands went squeezing on their way up his biceps to his shoulders, awe and childish happiness all the way. He was being pawed up by a mentally damaged child and enjoying it. Dean was going to Hell.

A tug at his cape got him back to awareness and Dean reached up to pry the fabric gently from the young man standing much too close to him.

“Hello. My name’s Dean. What’s - uhh,” Warm fingers slipped around his neckline, skittering over skin that Dean shiver-danced away from, feet shuffling. “Your name?”

“Castiel. You came from my village. But you’re not from there. You smell of Gabriel’s sticky buns. Where are you from?” Dean felt pinned by the large blue eyes and the unerring attention of them before the boy looked away having expelled his barrage of questions. His hands kept up their search though.

He would move before this kid got anywhere near his junk.

“I’m - erm,” Turned out he had to move faster as a hand went riding down his spine, seemingly finding all the bare parts of his leather armour, through to his skin. “Whoa there Castiel. Somebody must have told you, you can’t just go feeling up people.”

“Yes...right. Of course. It’s just you’re someone  _ new _ . Else. And I can, I can touch you like this.” The way he said it, like it was something amazing and awesome, pulled Dean’s heartstrings. Poor kid. If he’d been abandoned and left to fend for himself out here, the village people were likely who he depended on to give him scraps of food and he wouldn’t meet new people out here.

Shouldering what felt like another responsibility, Dean told his libido to stand down and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“I’m a knight from the Citadel, a High Guard knight to the King in fact. If you are in trouble here, have no family, I’d do my best to see you settled somewhere in the city.” Hell, Ellen and Bobby might take him in - shit but then he’d be like adopted family and he was pretty sure he shouldn’t want to fuck his adopted family… but it wasn’t like they would be blood related…

Suddenly Castiel froze, going still as a plank under his hand.

“Who is the King?” He asked quietly, an almost mournful quality to his voice that made Dean hesitate before answering.

“Umm, Michael is. His father, King Charles died twenty-years ago.” Castiel let out a soft sound, his eyes shutting as he turned his face away. “Micheal hasn’t married yet so there’s no designated heir. And his little brother died shortly before their father had passed.” Dean had only been seven at the time, reeling from the loss of his own parents. He remembered as he had gotten older he had felt sorry for Michael at first, having lost both his father and little brother. He couldn’t have imagined losing Sammy too… but Michael had seemed unfazed and any mention of the younger Prince was quickly quelled until he was almost forgotten.

“How awful. How  _ awful _ !” The passion of his rage and despair caught Dean off guard as the young man moved from under his hand, fists clenched. “He told people - and the King died?… and he sent you here!” Without warning all of that ire was on him and Dean took a step back before he caught himself, standing in the fire of this waif’s angry eyes. He was a knight. “He  _ sent  _ you!”

His libido picked the most inappropriate time to be interested again as the fire in those eyes rather than warning him off, warmed him right through. 

“Hold now. I don’t know why you’re so mad at me all of a sudden.” Dean raised his hands placatingly. “I was just sent here to kill a dragon. Unless it has also recently fed you, kept you warm or somehow saved your life like apparently it has for every single person back in that village.” He groused irritatedly, only to have Castiel stare blankly at him. And then abruptly laugh.

A beautiful, infectious laughter that crinkled his eyes and made his cheeks full and adorable. Dean’s heart flipped over rather loudly, like a beginner falling off a horse. A frisson of worry set in his suddenly heavy chest as he gaped at the laughing young man.

“He sent  _ you…ohh _ .” A rather pleased sigh ended his wild laughter and Dean suddenly had armfuls of young man against his chest. Beautiful naked skin against him. “I need to know. Are you bespelled? Or do you have magic too?” Dean was as lost as could be, how the conversation had gone from sad to enraged to some delightfully content pleasure that had Castiel in his arms...but he could answer simple questions.

“I’m not. Not a drop of magic I’m afraid but my brother is gifted. Very powerful.” Dean said it proudly, and tried surreptitiously to sniff at the boy’s hair. He smelled of the woods and smoke and earthy, honestly rather nice for a cave-dwelling vagabond.

“Is he free? What is - oh, but I suppose that’s a foolish question. You are a knight for the new King.” A somber seriousness took Castiel’s tone - as well as a thought flitting through Dean’s mind of how well-spoken and conversational Castiel was for the village idiot - and he lifted his face to Dean full on, hands on his breastplate. “Are mages still sold into the Circle?”

“Umm, do you mean to the Crown?” What did he mean still? Dean tilted his head, curious. “How old are you? I assumed you were rather young but…”

“I’m twenty...eight I believe. Yes, if as you say, twenty years ago...” Castiel’s fingers were rubbing at the buffed, dulled nickel of the chest piece, almost obsessively. “If the Crown pays for magical persons now, I suppose that’s kinder than taking them. The families feel as if they get something for enslaving their children.”

“...What?” Dean reared back, more than slightly offended as he remembered - how he had felt, telling Bobby and Ellen when he was thirteen and Sam was nine that he had magic and if they didn’t let the Crown know if Sam was ever found out he’d be dead. When they had surrendered Sam, the money had helped them all, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, even him as he had been able to start as a squire using it. To hear it termed as him selling Sammy to enslavement… it hit too close to home.

“The Crown used to just take powerful children. The younger you exhibited powers, generally the stronger you were. The royal line had never had a mage before… when the King found out he had a plan - it was a good plan.” Castiel looked down, his eyes welling with the shine of tears. “I suppose King Michael believes he’s created his own ‘good plan’. He keeps the people happy, keeps his power growing and keeps the coffers full too.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean finally grit out, holding Castiel by the shoulders until the young man - not a boy, though he looked so smooth-skinned and baby-faced despite his arresting beauty, that Dean still doubted that age - looked up. An eerie little head tilt, the downpull of full lips.

“Mages are sold to the Citadel Dean. How do you think the nation is so prosperous?” Dean wanted to say taxes and levies because taxes and levies sounded like the correct answer… but they are very prosperous. It was why Michael had never been usurped despite all the decisions he had made that people hated. There was no ‘lower’ class of citizen, just a rather large citizenry and a very small nobility. “And I’m sure whatever he gives to the families is nowhere near what the Citadel pays when they are old enough and strong enough to join the Circle. And then, their power is tied there to serve their masters and the King.”

Their roads were always paved. They never lacked for recruits. Their trade routes were never in dispute, all roads open to them. There were no disputes with other nations. The delicate construct of Dean’s mind was breaking…

“Being magically restrained by the Crown is maybe a good idea for those who are very powerful so don’t blame yourself…” Castiel looked down at their feet. “Power versus freedom is perhaps not a question to ask someone younger than ten years old. But the children that present with powers later are unlikely to need to be bound - much less sent to the Circle.”

“How do you know all of this?” Dean asked, voice grating and low. If it were true, he had sold Sammy. Sold him like a slave - but he wasn’t in the Circle yet! Dean was suddenly so grateful Zachariah hated him! Castiel’s fingers skirted his collar and then he heard a shallow, soft exhale.

The pull of his chain coming out of his tunic was slow and when Sam’s little trinket, just some cheap stone he imbued with his spells, nothing special, but the weight of it against his sternum always soothed Dean - landed on his skin, Castiel smiled slow and wide.

“So  _ this  _ is how. Your brother is very talented. This is lovely, lovely spellwork… almost as gorgeous as you.” Dean flushed up to his hair as Castiel smirked up at him. He looked down between their bodies and randomly ‘naked - still naked’ flashed through his mind.

“Clothes. You should...umm, yeah put on clothes.” While his brain had a chance to scrape together a few cells to function.

“I’ll put on something if you take off something.” Dean gaped at the cheeky wager and the wicked gleam in Castiel’s eye. He began to feel rather like prey, no longer worried he was taking advantage of someone. “That armour and the leather coverings. I will put on…” Castiel looked over at his pile of belongings. “Pants and a robe.”

Dean let out some garbled noise in his throat and nodded as Castiel stepped away from him, enough for Dean to look his fill at his naked form. “Deal?” He almost moaned out the ‘yes’, needed Castiel in some clothes so he didn’t need to keep shifting his jerkin pants.

“I would like to nap until dawn. You can lay down with me.” Castiel offered over his shoulder with a small, almost shy smile as he slipped into pants. Dean, struggled out of his armor and quickly sat himself near the still warm coals while Castiel slid his arms into some shimmery, see through thing of a robe. At least the pants were real. Castiel brushed down his own arms with a pleased smile and then pushed Dean’s breastplate closer to his pile of things. “Come closer Dean.”

Gods help him, Castiel was like a furnace. He wrapped an arm around him delicately and instead got his arm tugged right over and Castiel wriggling his body back into his until - oh!

“Mmm.” A self-satisfied little hum came out of the man in front of him. “I knew it.” Dean didn’t know  _ what  _ Castiel knew, just knew  _ he  _ was absolutely mortified as his body poked Castiel quite inappropriately in the lower back. “You smell amazing…” Castiel huffed sleepily. “I’ll keep you.”

Then he blushed hard enough to keep himself warm - and completely forgot Castiel had never answered his question.

* * *

  
  


Their walk into the village together the next morning was apparently quite the spectacle.

Dean reminded himself repeatedly that Castiel was nowhere as young as he appeared as people stared at them, how close the lean brunette stayed moulded to Dean’s side as they flit from place to place. Castiel seemed absolutely fey as he guided Dean, barefoot in his shimmery clothes. Dean marveled at how, it seemed everyone welcomed him warmly yet he lived in the woods...

“Castiel…” Balthazar’s greeting had cut off as Dean was pulled through the door by the grip of a very strong little hand. “And the knight. Why are you here with the knight?”

“I’ve decided to keep him.” Dean spluttered as Castiel seated himself rather comfortably at the bartop. “May I have a glass of whiskey please.”

“Whiskey for breakfast?” Dean was maybe not one to talk as he had been known to have a drink or two before noon… but before eight?

“It makes me feel warm. Also I like my meat rather rare. Seared really. The butcher usually gives me my breakfast as I pass but it might turn your stomach to watch me eat so - I think I’ll save lunch for my return home. To my home, for while your offer of a place to me in the Citadel was a sweet consideration, my forest is my home.”

“You spent the night together?” Balthazar looked from Dean to Castiel with the question obvious on his face. Castiel laughed as Dean stammered out denials - just in case he had been misled about the waif’s age.

“Not like that. I was rather surprised to find him outside my home… and even more so that he found me.” Balthazar nodded his understanding while Dean looked between them confusedly. 

“Well no one told him you were out there.” Balthazar offered forth.

“Speaking of, why would you have someone living out in the woods where a dragon lives? Even if it’s as tame as you people claim that can’t be safe.” Dean slapped a hand against the bar accusingly, worry suffusing him about his new… friend? Balthazar squinted suddenly before widening his eyes at Castiel dramatically.

“You - he doesn’t…” Then he swung his head to Dean. “Are you that dense?”

Castiel sighed heavily, turning in his seat after waving Balthazar to get his drink. “Dean… I perhaps assumed you understood from our conversation last night… I’m a mage. And quite safe - ah, thank you Bal,” He tossed back his drink with a loud smacking of his lips after he swallowed, a pleased hum following. “Quite safe from any dragons in the forest.”

Castiel flounced out with Dean scrambling to follow while his mind worked. Well of course that made sense didn’t it. He knew all about what happened to mages, Hell he knew more than Dean did. The living in the woods made sense especially if he was protecting these people from the Crown’s wrath for hiding a mage.

  
  


They traipsed into the bakery and where Dean had gotten the cold shoulder yesterday, Gabriel greeted Castiel with a huge smile and Dean was gifted the tail-end of Castiel’s smile into a reluctant scowl. 

“Your cinnamon pop?” Gabriel addressed the query to Castiel but Castiel shook his head and pointed to Dean. “A sticky bun for him.” Gabriel growled but served it, shoving it into his hands and waving away his coin.

“Thank you Gabriel.” Castiel once again latched onto his arm as Dean, famished, ate the bun in two hugely, impolite bites.

“You are a treasure. He’d have let me starve on my travels home.” Dean stage-whispered as Castiel smiled up at him. “I already face a reckoning on my return.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you as I don’t this village. I’ve claimed it as mine. I will protect it as my duty so I’ve bespelled it.” Castiel patted Dean’s chest almost vaguely. “As your brother has done for you. So that you can see me as I am.”

“So you’re a very powerful mage… but free. That’s why you had asked if Sam was free too. Oh…” Dean felt a deep sadness sweep him as he realized Castiel couldn’t return with him. He would be killed. He couldn’t even  _ mention  _ Castiel. “If… if I leave without killing the dragon can you protect the village then?”

Castiel smiled at him, a wide lovely thing before he chuckled and said ‘oh Dean’ with such affection he blushed up to his ears. His skin actually felt heated.

“What an idiot.” Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically, waving them out and Castiel dragged them away while Dean glared back after him spitefully. Short, spindly twit.

“I wish you could stay… I wish I could go.” Castiel said finally, clinging to his arm, his weight almost hanging like a limpet. He heaved a loud sigh. “Don’t worry Dean. I’m a very strong mage.” Dean was suspicious of the sly twist of a smile Castiel looked away with.

“I wish you could come with me too but you’re a living treason. It’s already bad enough I’m leaving you alive - I mean, if anyone found out I did.” He could tell Sam - probably only Sam, of this free mage. That made his heart light and the wild emotions of his self sing.

“Dean, no one will touch you. I told you I would keep you didn’t I?” The sharp, almost birdlike twist of his head paired with those Andraste’s waters-blue eyes was somehow predatory. “I would lay hands on you and no one would ever touch you again but me.”

Heaven help him but Dean believed it too. It was best he left before he tangled with this bewitching man any more - and yet.

How could he leave? Without knowing what Castiel’s mouth tasted like? The smoky nature of his skin that Dean sucked slick smooth from the rough texture of dryness. The way his delicate, dancing fingers turned into taloned claws because he was a greedy lover, dragging, grasping, pulling demands of Dean. And territorial? Dean would have scattered bruises across his body for days, rich blood reds now that would go purple and blue.

He wouldn’t have known - logically, he wouldn’t have known if he’d never had it - but Dean thinks maybe he would have died, leaving without knowing the clasping heat of Castiel’s body as he mounted himself on Dean and took his pleasure while Dean worked like a half dead thing under him for ‘again, more, gods Cas!’, because he hadn’t fucked like this since he was a teenager. Castiel pulled his soul out through him he was sure, because Dean quite lost consciousness after the third time he made the overwhelmed knight come.

Half on his bedroll and half covered in stable straw was not the most glamorous awakening but it was how Dean woke, with Castiel a lazy sprawl of limbs across him and satisfied with himself as he rubbed his sweat and fluid covered body against Dean happily.

“Mm… you smell like me. And taste like me.” The low rumble of his voice was an aphrodisiac that had Dean’s blood trying valiantly to fill him again but he croaked out a noise of dissent even as he felt Castiel hardening against him again.

“Mercy… I can’t.” Somewhere internal in his loins ached and his lower back protested the rather astringent motions he had made while climaxing. 

“Fine.” The petulant rumble was set to his skin with a nip of teeth under his jaw. “I’m all over you anyway. You’re safe and you’re mine, don’t forget.” Castiel sat up, straddling Dean so he could look down, eyes narrowed and direct.

“I couldn’t forget you if I were hit over the head.” That seemed to please enough as Castiel smiled at him, slow and sweet.

“And you’ll visit? You get breaks? You’ll visit me?” The uncertainty underlying Castiel’s inquiry twisted his heart right into a knot. Dean gripped Castiel by the face and pushed a rough kiss onto his reddened mouth.

“Every six months. If you travel to meet me halfway, we would get more time together even if it’s in the woods somewhere. You’re a fancy mage… we can make it work.”

And Dean found himself quite suddenly in a long distance relationship as Castiel nodded and settled back down, nestled into him.

“As you say.” Hot breath puffed against his skin for a moment before he spoke again. “You have to go today. What will you tell your King?” Castiel asked, voice airy light.

“Nothing of you. Simply, the beast eluded me.” As it had. For all he had been promised a dragon he had found none. Just the bewitching creature atop him. Dean hugged Castiel to him tightly. For he was as much his as Castiel claimed him.  _ Mine _ .

* * *

  
  


The only reprieve from an immediate report to the King was that Dean returned in the dead of night. He had ridden through the dark once he was close enough to the city and the security of the Citadel. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep anyway, his mind overloaded with all he had learned and of course full of Castiel.

Dean would feel guilt for waking Sam from his deep slumber if he didn’t have, so very much to tell his brother.

Somehow he had gone to slay a dragon and fallen in love.

Sam’s restless rolling and grumbling as Dean shook him awake made his mind jump fondly to how Castiel had woken him when he found him against his outside cave wall. His brother’s wild flailing with his long arms however was not fondly remembered.

“Sam!” Dean dodged the sleepy bludgeoning and sat back in the free chair of his room as he woke fully.

“Wuh - Dean? What… why are you here in the dead of night? Not that I’m not glad you’re back but…” Dean laughed softly at the annoyed squint of his brother’s eyes, almost bursting with his news.

“I needed someone to talk to, if I’m being honest. I will be reprimanded tomorrow - who knows what else, for I failed my task.” Dean grinned, almost proud. “But I met someone. His name is Cas - Castiel. He is from the village I was sent to. I couldn’t put it in the note lest it be seen by the wrong eyes but I was sent to kill a young dragon.” He finished at a whisper.

Sam seemed to be struggling to understand - he wasn’t at his best freshly woken. His words were slow and ponderous. “The King sent you to kill a dragon?” Dean nodded at the question. “And you met someone in the village.”

“Yes.” He was sure he was alight, luminescent with his joy from the way Sam stared, looking more and more awake. “Oh - but Dean, a man from some backwoods village?.”

Dean flushed. “It - he is… I couldn’t have fought it if I wanted to. He’s amazing. Unearthly. Some fey thing. He claims to be my age but looks like a younger man and,” Here he paused, careful. “Never repeat this, to anyone. Forget it as soon as I say it… he is a free mage.”

There was a long quiet pause as Sam processed what he had said, eyes widened. He nodded slow as he looked at Dean. “So he won’t be returning with you, ever.”

“No. I will visit him, every break if I can. I promised I would, he is a demanding little thing.” Under his clothes the fading marks of those demands were still all over him, Dean thought fondly. “I would love it if you were able to come with me to meet him. He was quite taken with your spellwork on my amulet.”

Here Sam looked confused. “He knew your amulet was spelled?” Dean tried to think back to what Castiel had said, flushing as the memory returned.

“Oh yes. He held it and said it was lovely spellwork, gorgeous even. That you gave me protection and… something about allowing me to see?” He had said something like that in the shop.

“Wow Dean. He must be very strong if he can see magic. But - if he’s not…” Sam’s tone went worried, low and even quieter than their whispers before. “Is he quite alright?” He made a gesture to his head that made Dean nervous, a tiny shot of panic for Castiel.

“I mean, when I first met him I thought him touched but he’s well-spoken, amazingly intelligent and knowledgeable. He told me things I - Sam, I don’t think you should try to join the Circle of Magi anymore. I mean, service to the King has its own dangers but...” Dean took a breath before laying it all bare before his brother.

Everything Castiel had said about King Michael paying families for gifted children and then selling them for more to the Circle when they came of age and power, about how Michael had arranged it all to keep their kingdom prosperous. Sam did interject that he knew children were formerly taken by the Crown and in the silence they realized Michael had manipulated the country into acceptance of the same bitter pill - by smothering it in silver.

“He said something else that… I hesitate even to say aloud but - do you know anything about Michael’s sibling? The one that died? Because Castiel said the royal line had never had a mage before, and that King Charles had planned to change the arrangement in some way but then -” Dean gestured the implication of his death, dramatically. Sam’s jaw was hanging, his eyes plates in the rising light. “So I suspect he thinks the young Prince was a mage.”

“I would need to do some research but… but that’s suggesting the King was either planning on selling his own child to the Circle or had planned to allow him to be free. One or the other - if we ignore the unthinkable. Then for him to die before anything could occur seems…” Sam’s thoughtful ponderance trailed off.

The quiet between them was heavy. The implication hung there that either the former king or Michael or both of them, had removed a stain on their line and Michael’s new plan of paying families for magical kids had covered up the core issue. And really, no one even remembered the name of Michael’s younger brother anymore.

“We shouldn’t ruminate on it. Put it from your mind Dean.” Sam said, suddenly fierce. “I will look up any information I can but don’t breathe a thought of this to anyone else.” He nodded, in complete agreement with his brother.

“I honestly just wanted to tell you about Castiel.” Dean sighed, drifting off into his thoughts. It was actually only four months until his next cycle break. He could imagine Castiel’s joy at a surprise visit and the back-aching aggravations the man would put him through, he shivered at the thought.

“I will go off to my own bed. Get some sleep.” He stood, stretching. “It will be an awful day tomorrow before the King.”

If only he knew.

* * *

  
  


Dean made the walk up to the dais again, his footsteps seeming unbearably loud in the echo of the room as King Michael stood to greet him, an expression of polite forbearance on his face.

“My High Guard Knight. I am pleased to see you returned in one piece.” The King sat as Dean knelt and waved a hand imperiously. “What have you brought me? A fang, a horn? A talon or two perhaps?”

“My Liege…” In the bright light of early morning it was harder to be as flippant about his failure as he’d been the night before with Sam. Michael would be displeased beyond measure. Dean could not imagine his punishment for his failure. “I bring ill tidings. I was unable to find the beast to kill it.”

“You…” Michael seemed stunned at his words. “You didn’t kill it?” At Dean’s low ‘no my Lord’ abruptly he exploded. “Why are you even HERE then?! Why did you return!? I told you I want the dragon dead!”

“My - my Liege,” Dean was stunned at the outburst, voice careful in a way of fearing reprisal for he’d never heard or seen King Michael so unhinged. “I would gladly undertake another expedition if the creature’s death is… of such import,” And why was it? It was a lonely, young dragonling that caused no damage or harm to anything. In fact the opposite by what the villagers had shared. “However, the town has said the creature has not impugned on them in any way and the persons there are willing to saddle the responsibility of handling the thing.”

“Handling… the villagers…” Michael wiped a hand over his mouth slowly, looking at him with a blatant disbelief. “You left without doing your duty because some backward, uneducated idiots told you they believe they can control a dragon?”

Dean cleared his throat and presented his case as calmly as he could. “My King, they have surrendered the forest to it. The farmers have set aside to raise cattle specifically for the feeding of the creature and the townspeople themselves seem to have taken to caring for the dragon. According to information I gleaned they even have their children around the beast. So I honestly believe…”

“Are you or are you not a knight? My knight!” Dean’s shoulders went back, his back straightened at the tone. “I gave you a command and you have disobeyed, listening to some fool people who will one day awake to find flames around them or not awake at all and I! - _ I  _ will be the one bombarded with requests for aid and shelter and  _ you _ , will then have to deal with a full grown beast!” The King sneered at him, his face twisted in displeasure. “You will go back. You will fix it.”

Dean bit his lip, ducked his head for but a second before he raised his chin and looked the King in the eye. “The village is capable my King. They have protection from the dragon.”

“Protection? What could possibly protect them from…” The trailing off of the King’s voice urged Dean to quiet, to hold his tongue. “What aren’t you telling me? Knight Winchester… Dean my Sword. I would know your thoughts… why are you so sure the village can handle a dragon?”

The mighty sound of Michael’s staff hitting the floor of the dias bowed Dean’s head. If he spoke he doomed Castiel… people would be sent to kill him. If he didn’t speak…

“Master Zachariah could be persuaded to send another Scribe to the Circle of Magi. I know you’ve wanted that for your brother for a very long time…” Dean’s face blanched in fear, cold shuddered down his spine. The King thought he was buying his loyalty while he threatened his whole world and he didn’t know what Dean knew - his brother would not be enslaved!

“No! Please… I,” Dean stuttered, whispered what followed hoarsely. “They have a mage. A free mage who is very powerful and he has taken the village under his protection!” Dean gained confidence as he spoke, voice pleading. “So they are fine! It’s all fine. If he is left alone he can pro-”

“You  _ saw  _ him.  _ You saw him _ didn’t you!?” King Michael stood regally, and every step he took toward where Dean still knelt was stalking. “How? Does your brother have forbidden magic on you? Some sort of true sight?”

“I don’t know...I have no idea what you’re talking about…?” His confusion was real as Dean rocked back on his heels to look up at the King and Michael shook his head with sickened mirth on his face.

“You are a fool. Do you really not know why mages are bound to the Crown and then to the Circle of Magi? Your brother is one of the strongest in our kingdom and you know nothing of what he is?” He spoke over Dean’s beginning splutterings. “Mages are gateways of magic. Raw power… a young, free mage is like setting a wild beast upon the land. Very powerful mages, young and untrained can become eldritch monsters my High Guard knight. And you, you young fool, were probably walking and talking with the very dragon I sent you to  _ kill _ !”

Castiel was the dragon? Castiel? Dean toppled to the side until he was sat on the floor, blindsided. His beautiful, laughing, demanding, bewitching man…

“He was already powerful as a child and now he’s gained his eldritch form as well and he’s traipsing around a village he’s claimed as his own. He can’t  _ claim  _ anything!” Michael’s voice was a background to Dean’s private torment, drifting in and out of his hearing. “ - but a monster! Anyone who lets that creature put its magic on them is doomed. That whole village should be razed!”

“You know who Castiel is - or… was?” Dean asked it quietly voice broken, his heart in pain. Was it possible that it was all a lie. Some clever machinations of a beast that had controlled his thinking - oh how he had laughed at Dean when he spoke of having a dragon to kill. How he had hoarded Dean, like a possession - same as his things and his cave and his village…

“Do I know who he is?” King Michael snorted, twisted on his heel and raged up and down, muttering. “A tiny little usurper that Father would have put on the throne because he fancied trying to turn the world upside down. Our way of life works! The people are happy! Imagine if we tried to make it that mages were more valuable than the average man.”

He turned on Dean suddenly, sharply, pointing with his staff from afar. “Whatever he has told you is poison in your ear my knight. Wildly spun tales or sweet nothings alike…” Michael’s cold blue eyes flayed him, nothing like Castiel’s...except...except.

His loss at hearing of King Charles' death. Dean knew the younger Prince had gone missing when Dean was seven… Castiel was twenty-eight… twenty years ago… It fell into place, everything slotting together like those new-fangled puzzle boxes. The little Prince had gone on a cruise around the kingdom for his eighth birthday and been lost to bandits, supposedly. The King too… everyone had assumed he died of a broken heart over the little one but as heir-apparent Michael had said he died in his bed of paroxysms. Michael had taken the throne and his will had been done. No one had looked for the child, no one had questioned Chuck’s death. 

Dean pushed to his feet, unsteady and reeling as it all came perfectly clear.

“He’s...he’s your  _ brother _ .” Dean breathed it, fear and disgust rife in his tone. Michael simply sneered, uncaring.

“Castiel…” Dean’s heart caught at hearing his name. “I should have had a blade put in him but I had hoped just having him lost would be enough. Father wanted to put a  _ mage  _ on the throne!” Michael made a gesture of aggravation as he paced back toward Dean. “I still bore love in my heart for him. For them both but…” Michael stopped before Dean and looked him in the face, piercing.

“My brother is dead. The thing in his place is a dragon! And as a knight it is your duty to slay dragons.” The King declared it with a wide smile, arms open. He tempered his grin as Dean stared and patted him on the shoulder. “He is not what he told you.”

“Why...why must we kill dragons?” Dean whispered it lowly, steeling himself.

“They are vicious creatures, my High Guard knight. They  _ take  _ and they hoard wealth. They destroy all things and the people live in fear of their capricious moods. They cannot be controlled…” Michael finished, his tone almost soothing. “That’s why you must kill it.”

Dean looked away, down to the floor, terror rising in him. “Very well my Liege.” At what he was about to do.

The knight drew his sword in a wide arc and without hesitation, plunged the blade into the King’s side, up into his body as if seeking his heart. Dean’s breath caught as the sword stuck, as he felt the rush of blood sudden and hot over his hand. He pulled the sword as he stepped back, Michael’s hand falling from his shoulder and his body collapsing in on himself as he fell to his knees, staff clattering from his grip.

Dean stood, frozen in the moment as he watched the King’s futilely grasping hands, weakening as he spasmed on the ground, pumping out his life blood.

The sound of his own heavy breathing and Michael’s dying gasps and sputters drowned Dean.

He had killed the King. He had… Vertigo took him suddenly, the room spinning before Dean stumbled back a step and heaved. Dear Andraste, he was covered in the former King’s blood up to his elbow and his body was at Dean’s feet.

What to do. What to do.

“Help. Help…” Was that his voice? A strangle whine of a thing as he pled for some relief from the terror acutely suffocating him - and he had done this for a man that wasn’t even here. That really, wasn’t even a man!

“...-mand entry! I don’t care!” The sound of a heavy thump against the door made Dean stagger to the side to hide behind a pillar, almost hyperventilating. He had killed the King. He had killed the gods-damned King!

“Dean!?” Feet ran up the marbled hall and Dean flung himself out, face a portrait of terror.

“Sam! Help...me! I -” A cry was sent up from the door, someone must have looked in behind his brother and seen him and the King’s body, for a shout for soldiers went up in the corridor. His brother quickly started to chant, spelling the room as Dean ran for the door and shoved it closed in frozen faces.

They would be killed, both of them put to death. What had he done? He’d dragged his brother into his madness with him? He could have said yes, claimed he would kill the dragon and ran. Ran off with Castiel and never come back but instead… instead in him had grown such a rage that Michael would do such a thing...to his father, his baby brother, all for power.

Time went syrupy slow in Dean’s mind as Sam held him, both of them huddled behind the throne. Someone would be called. Michael had no heir but thrones were not simply taken by slayings… it wasn’t like he was the new King. He would be the Kingslayer.

What roused him finally were the shouts, wild screams and the sound of running feet like a stampede from outside. He would think it was related to them barricaded in the throne room with the King’s dead body but then he heard ‘dragon’. A shiver went through him and he knew, he just  _ knew _ .

“Cas is here.” He clutched at his brother’s arm, desperate. “He’s strong but he can’t take the citadel alone. We have to help him… and then we have to spell the people so they can see him.”

“You figured it out?” Sam asked gently, his voice careful. Dean shook his head, half-shrugged it.

“Michael confessed. He had Castiel kidnapped from his travels but didn’t command him killed out of… what little care he had for him I guess. But he did not want his father’s plans for mages to even be whispered in the light of day… I think he poisoned his father.” They took to their feet together, supporting each other. “King Charles had wanted Castiel to be a mage-King. It would have changed the lives of mages, the way the Circle operates, everything.”

“Oh wow.” Sam whispered it, eyes wide. Dean grit his teeth, set his face to steely determination. 

“We have to help him. He’s the true heir. Between you and he, your magic can make the realm see him as he truly is… we just have to get out there before they kill him. He’s still quite young for a dragon.”

Sam released a wild, shocked laugh that was almost hysterical but they left the room together, under their own power. It was funny how in the wake of a dragon attack the High Guard knight who had killed the King was suddenly welcome - if only to tell them what to do to save all their lives. The army was scrambling, what troops had been already inside the castle awaiting orders frightfully from a blood-covered Dean.

Maybe they had all thought themselves to have been relieved of the burden of being pulled between two courses when he walked out to the courtyard weaponless. Following his orders would save them they hoped but they would not have to follow a Kingslayer if the dragon killed him dead - but all of them were shocked to stunned silence as the dragon settled in the courtyard before him - to them, a big hulking monster of a beast.

But just Castiel to Dean.

“Dean.” Arms full of naked man again, this position was familiar to him and Dean took deep comfort, letting his weight sink back against his lover. Castiel  _ was  _ his lover too wasn’t he? Huh. “I heard you. I heard you cry and I left - besides flying hours I’m quite upset… I don’t know what’s happening to my things this far away.” A hand flew out almost casually and Dean watched a dozen arrows be knocked out of the sky from their flank side. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve…” Is this news he should be breaking more gently? “Your brother is dead.”

Castiel leaned back and looked over him, raking his eyes over Dean’s bloody form. “You killed him then.” He couldn’t hide his flinch. Castiel however just sighed heavily and sank into his hug again. “I didn’t… wish for his death, as angry as I was. But I’m sure you did what you thought was right. You’re a very righteous man Dean.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so  _ sorry _ .” As if the weight of the world were suddenly upon him, Dean cried, a few heavy tears he couldn’t fight back as he heaved for breath against Castiel’s sweet hair. He was shushed and soothed gently, until he felt he could bear to move away, enough to untangle them.

“The arrows have stopped. I wonder if it was the shock of seeing a dragon snuggling one of their knights.” Castiel quipped wryly, a twist of a smirk on his lips. Dean wasn’t surprised when both his lithe hands latched onto his arm and Dean was once again hung off like a limpet. “I’m fighting the urge to drag you off somewhere dark and get reacquainted.”

Dean flushed, gaping at his - his what really, they needed to speak on that - Castiel, and turned toward the palace.

“Sam will assist you - the both of you together can make the Citadel see you as you truly are can’t you?” Castiel gave him a look of confusion, head tilting.

“Whatever for?” 

“Well… the King is dead. The throne was meant to be yours.” Dean said it quietly, gently. Castiel gave him a sad smile, an easy shrug of his shoulders.

“I am no longer the man who would be king. And if they would make me, I’d promptly abdicate and run off with the kingslayer - so I’m afraid I’d be a terrible King. But… -”

It was a very heavy ‘but’. The next year was very hard on the three of them, Castiel, Dean and Sam. Castiel had to take the throne by blood - by rights it was his. He ruled for exactly one year, during the course of which he changed the laws regarding mages to the wishes of his father, pardoned Dean of his crimes against the Crown and named himself an heir. Said boy-King spent the next eleven months and two days of his life rueing the day his brother met his mage-lover, as they either tormented him with the work they put upon him or with their lovemaking. 

And sure, it might be amusing to think of them scaring the daylights out of some stable boy thinking a dragon was was in the barn - then that some deviant was fucking said dragon in the barn but Sam did not need to be the one seeing that when Castiel let the glamour fall purposely when he walked into their room!

But apart from tormenting Sam, Dean quite enjoyed the idea of retiring young, going back to Castiel’s small village and making his own mark there. He had put his foot down that they would have a house, even if it were in the middle of the forest somewhere - he was not living in a cave. And they weren’t far. Castiel had proven he could make the trip in hours and Dean if pushed could get to his brother in a day. Dean stayed for a while after Sam’s coronation and slowly but surely drifted away for days at a time until there were stretches of time he wasn’t at the Citadel but home with Castiel. 

When Sam’s reign felt steady and assured, though Dean and Castiel had already been mostly away, they officially considered themselves moved. Sam would never be alone however, because there was no one Dean would protect more - he would be the King’s sword and Castiel, his partner, their shield.

Long Live the King.

**Author's Note:**

> Hijacked just a pinch of Dragon Age for this - blessed be Andraste! Because mages in the game that aren't sent to learn control in the Tower *can* become possessed by demons AND there is a wild mage called Flemeth who is a dragon.
> 
> My thanks to the small crowd on this one, Khajit Tink, SaltyRavenclaw and Darkwings17! 💗💗💗
> 
> If you'd like to join the Profound Bond server, https://discord.gg/profoundbond - please be 18+ years!


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